


Calling In Sick

by kayliemalinza



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-06
Updated: 2008-11-06
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:55:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayliemalinza/pseuds/kayliemalinza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto gets to stay home sick from work. Doesn't mean work will stay away from <i>him</i>, but at least he has a blanket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calling In Sick

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of an antidote to all those "Ianto/Jack/a puppy is sick and Jack/Ianto/a Care Bear nurses him back to health" stories. _Blegh_.

The phone rang one and a half times.

"The Armageddon can get stuffed," Ianto said, "because I'm not coming in to work today."

"...hello?" said Tosh.

"Good morning," said Ianto. "I'm calling in sick. Or answering the phone sick, as the case may be. Did you need me for anything?"

"Just wondering where you put the Ark files," Tosh said faintly.

Ianto wrapped the blue fleece blanket more tightly around himself, frowning at the worn spot near the edge. "In the file room where they belong," he said. "And not on the coffee table where you left them."

There was a short moment of silence.

"I knew I was going to use them again this morning," she pointed out, carefully neutral. "I wasn't being sloppy."

"But the files don't live on the coffee table," Ianto said. "They live in the filing room. They become distraught and bewildered away from home."

Tosh huffed. "The files aren't living anywhere, and they don't have emotions. They're not sentient," she said.

"You should be nicer to me," Ianto said pitifully. "I'm _dying_."

"Oh, drink some chicken soup," Tosh muttered, and hung up.

\---

The phone rang four times, but only because Ianto's hand got tangled up in the blanket.

"Listen, as a medical professional, I strongly urge you to stay home and rest," Owen said.

"I bow to your judgment," Ianto said.

"I'd come and make sure it's nothing too serious," Owen said, "but you're probably contagious, and I hate being sneezed on. I don't want you coming into the Hub and sneezing on me here, either. The last thing we need is an epidemic."

"You are my guiding light," said Ianto.

"I might actually enjoy work without you prancing around the place," Owen remarked. "Anyway, I'll write Jack a note to get you out of gym class, shall I?"

"Much obliged," said Ianto, and sneezed.

\---

The doorbell rang twice before Ianto realized what it was, and six more times before he made it to the door. The blanket, for its part, wrapped around his legs like a murderous housecat. Thump.

"Ianto? Are you ok?" Gwen called through the door.

Ianto picked himself up from the floor where he had fallen and undid the latch. "Doing better now, thanks," he said as he let Gwen in. "Is that takeaway?" he asked hopefully.

"It is!" she beamed. "I didn't know whether you could eat much, but I thought I'd come anyway. If you're queasy, I could make you some toast?"

"Stick a starched white cap on your head, and you're my dream come true," said Ianto.

"Let's not go that far," said Gwen, and handed over the grease-spotted bags.

\---

The phone rang twelve times.

The doorbell rang only five times, but it was very forceful.

Jack came into the living room with seven clompy footsteps. "Are you malingering?" he asked.

"Nngh?" Ianto responded, and squinted at the bright hallway light bursting like a halo behind Jack.

Jack stepped closer—a little more quietly this time—and put his hand to Ianto's forehead. "I guess not," he said. "Do you want me to make you some tea?"

"I want you to go away," mumbled Ianto, and buried his face in the pillow.

"Sorry, can't do that," said Jack. He plunked himself on the edge of the coffee table and pulled something intricate and metal out of his coat pocket. "We just caught wind of an alien disease making its way around Cardiff. I think it started when this Icthyian Bloodhound came through the Rift with the mange, which then jumped to a human host—"

"I don't have mange," Ianto slurred, cuddling the corner of the blanket. "It's just a cold."

"Well, this disease starts out as a cold," said Jack. "Then after twelve hours, all of your hair falls out and you vomit to death."

Ianto's eyes snapped open. "I don't want to vomit to death," he said. "And I'm exceedingly fond of my hair. I even use fruit-flavored shampoo."

Jack grinned . "Luckily, your dashing hero is here to save the day," he said, and pried one of Ianto's hands from the blanket to set the cold nozzle of the device against his palm. "Portable implantable cross-species immune system," he announced. "It's like injecting a white-blood-cell smoothie right into your veins. This might tickle."

The device beeped three times.

"That _hurt_ ," Ianto accused.

"Sorry, I guess you're feeling sensitive." Jack set the device down and rubbed his thumb against the small red splotch in Ianto's palm. "This should do its work in a few hours. Side effects will last for a while after that—cold flashes, mostly, and some joint pain, but you'll probably sleep right through it and wake up feeling fine." He tucked Ianto's hand back under the blanket, then leaned forward to curl his arm around the lump of Ianto's shoulders. "I expect to see you bright and early tomorrow," Jack murmured, and kissed Ianto's temple.

"Mmph," said Ianto, and drifted off before Jack left the room.


End file.
